Page 5

S eated at his usual corner table in the Rogue’s Lair, Finn leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and took in the sights and brashly cheerful sounds of the tavern. Relaxing for the first time in hours, he idly swirled the rich amber whisky in his glass. Lifting his gaze, he studied Jon’s expression. Seeing the expression on his friend’s face, he realized his own respite would be short-lived.

Jon reached for his drink and downed a gulp of scotch. The whisky seemed to ease the set of his jaw, but there was no disguising the rigid tension in his body. His once-jovial nature had evaporated, the strain of living up to his father’s expectations etched in the lines on Jon’s face.

Finn had first noticed the transformation upon his friend’s return to London, but tonight, Jon seemed especially on edge. When he’d requested that they find a place to talk—specifically, a place away from Macie’s ears—his tone had been terse, sharply clipped.

What in blazes was going on? And what did Macie have to do with it?

Had Jon’s father settled on a whey-faced but suitably titled nitwit for Macie? Bloody hell. The very thought of it set Finn’s back teeth on edge. Macie didn’t deserve to be bartered for a puffed-up title that might allow her father to drown out the talk of new money he so detested.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Logan MacLain strolled up to the table. Newly married to a beauty who’d tamed the man once rumored to be an outlaw, the tavern’s owner bore the unmistakable look of a man thoroughly contented with his life. Lucky bastard. At least Logan had the good sense to know how bloody fortunate he was.

“Is that any way to greet yer favorite cousin?” Finn replied with a chuckle.

“Favorite?” Logan cocked a brow. “Given how prolific my father’s siblings have been at reproduction, I’ve more than a dozen kin who could fit that description.”

“Ah, ye wound me,” Finn said dryly, slipping into the brogue that came easily when he was in the company of his Highland kin. “If I had not spoken certain words of wisdom, an ocean might now separate ye from the lass ye took as yer bride.”

“I would have come to my senses soon enough.” A smile played on Logan’s mouth. “With or without your wisdom . If I’d had to swim across the blasted Atlantic, I would’ve gone after Amelia.”

Finn shrugged. “I’d like to think my advice saved ye the trouble. Not to mention keeping ye from becoming food for the sharks.”

A grin touched Logan’s mouth. “If ye’re looking to get a round on the house, consider it done.” He turned to Jon. “It’s good to see ye in London again. Ye’re here on business?”

Jon offered a small nod. “In a matter of speaking.”

“A matter of speaking, eh?” Logan replied. “I understand yer sister has accompanied you. Mary Catherine, if memory serves.”

Jon nodded again. “Macie is looking to photograph historic buildings in the city. She might be interested in setting up her camera here.”

“The lass will be welcome any time. Amelia’s planning to invite her to tea at our home. She’s hopeful Macie might be interested in photographing her library.”

“She’ll be delighted at the opportunity.” Jon smiled for the first time that night. “Tell me, MacLaine, have you heard tales of ghosts in the place?”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “Ghosts, ye say?”

“My sister is fascinated by the possibility of spectral activity.”

Logan nodded thoughtfully. “I do not doubt there’s a spirit or two rumbling around Amelia’s library. The building certainly has a history.”

“Interesting,” Jon said. “Please, do have your wife reach out to her.”

“Ye can count on it.” Logan glanced over his shoulder at the bar. A loudmouth’s harsh tones carried back to their table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a little talk with this gent. In the meantime, I’ll send another round. On the house. I wouldn’t want our mothers to think me a skinflint where my favorite cousin is concerned.”

Jon watched as Logan cut a direct path to the bar. “He seems happy enough with his lot in life.”

“I’ve never seen a man more content,” Finn said without hesitation. “His new bride is as fetching as she is kind, the tavern is thriving, and Mrs. Langford has found herself a beau, so she’s not hell-bent on taking out Logan’s brougham at all hours of the night.”

“Mrs. Langford?” Questions brimmed in Jon’s eyes. “She drives his carriage?”

“The woman is family to him, though not by blood.” Finn reached for his glass and downed a healthy draught of whisky. “It’s a long story. Too long to get into now. Someday, I’ll fill in the details.”

“Fair enough. Changing the subject, might I ask what the devil you were thinking at the old house? Good bones, eh?”

“I spoke the truth,” Finn said coolly. “Renovating the house will not prove as daunting a task as ye’ve imagined.”

Jon swished the liquor in his glass. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Macie had convinced you to stand on her side.”

“So, ye’re on to us. Yer sister and I have hatched a plot, a sinister scheme to browbeat ye into restoring your grandfather’s home.”

Jon plowed a hand through his hair. “She is so bloody fond of that dusty old tomb. I’ve never seen her so blasted sentimental about anything, let alone an old building.” A muscle clenched and unclenched in his jaw. “Our grandfather knew she’d move heaven and earth to preserve his house.”

Even as lads, Finn had been able to read his friend’s expression. He set his glass down on the table with a clink. “What’s on yer mind, Jon? Ye look like a man condemned to the Tower.”

“A stay in the Tower might be bloody preferable.” Jonathan leaned back against the leather-upholstered chair. “Time on the rack might be easier to abide than trying to rein Macie in.”

“Ye’d have an easier time taming the ocean.” Finn balked at the notion. For some reason he couldn’t quite explain, even to himself, the idea of reining Macie in irritated him like a pebble in his shoe.

“Now that, my friend, is an understatement.” Jon’s expression was weary.

An all-too-intriguing image of Macie’s impish smile the night before waltzed into his thoughts. Delighted with her own cheek, she’d mingled with London’s elite while wearing a gown that might have passed for a shroud. In the process, she had proven one irrefutable truth: it simply wasn’t possible to dull her beauty.

Finn resisted the urge to grin at the very recent memory. “She has a good bit of yer mum in her.”

“Another understatement.” Jon rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Macie and our mother are the only people on the planet who can render Father speechless. He and Mum are complete opposites. By all rights, she should’ve driven him mad years ago. But he’s still wild for her.”

“And that is as it should be,” Finn said. “I take it she is well.”

“Quite so. Better than our father, in fact.” The furrows in Jon’s brow deepened. “Since Father pushed Macie into this infernal husband hunt, Mum has cultivated a layer of frost toward him as thick as an iceberg.”

“That does not surprise me. I cannot imagine yer mother would place any value on a title.”

“Precisely the opposite. She married Father when his prospects were far from illustrious. He was a second son, brash and brave—as Mum has said, a bold young man with scarcely a shilling to his name. But that did not stop her from spurning some high-and-mighty earl to become his bride. And much to her own father’s discontent, I might add.”

“Yer father is a lucky man.”

Jon waved away the thought. “These days, he’s turned into a character straight out of Dickens.”

“He is contemplating his legacy. That’s plain to see.”

Jon regarded him for a long moment. “Caldwell, when did you become a philosopher?”

“I am a man of many talents.” Finn took another drink. “And ye, my friend, should pay little heed to yer father’s insistence on a title yer sister does not want.”

Jon took another drink. “Someday, this quest will be done, and I won’t have to witness the scenes she concocts to scare off the heiress hunters, as she calls them. From one day to another, I don’t know what she’s going to do next.”

Finn bit back a smile. “Heiress hunters, eh?” He’d have described the shameless money-hungry blokes in far cruder terms.

“Prince Bloody Charming himself could court her, and she’d have no interest. Not that I can fault her.” Jon shoved a hand through his hair. “Beyond that, she doesn’t care one whit about propriety. She won’t even wear a blasted bustle. No, Macie insists on sensible dress. God above, that travesty she wore last night—a gown commissioned from the most esteemed dressmaker in the city—was enough to stir the biddies to talk.”

“It... it wasn’t so bad.” Finn struggled for a charitable description.

“She could’ve garbed herself in one of the sheets draping the furniture at the old house for far less money.” Jon scowled into his glass. “That might have been an improvement.”

“Ye must admit, the gown was modest.”

“If you had not been there to keep her from taking that spill last night, I can only imagine the scene. She would’ve strolled out of there, drenched in a fine vintage from Lady Drayton’s wine cellar.” Jon drummed his fingers against the table in an agitated rhythm. “Just one blasted week without Macie conjuring some disaster or other to set the gossips into a frenzy, whether contrived or purely by chance. That’s all I want.”

“Ye’re not her keeper.”

“That would be easier to believe if my sister’s nickname was not Calamity .”

“I must say it does fit, especially given her grace and poise,” Finn said with an ill-advised smile.

Jon shot him a glare. “You’re enjoying my pain too bloody much.”

“It’s one of my few pleasures these days. I tell ye, being a reformed rogue is not easy.”

“And now, a situation has arisen.” Jon stared down at his whisky. “I’ve been called away from London.”

“That’s not unusual.”

Jon lifted his glass and took a drink. “But this time, Macie is here. In the city. And she has no desire to leave.”

“That’s not to be unexpected. Yer sister is a woman, capable of making her own way for a time. And she’s not alone. I presume Miss Blake will remain in the city as her companion while ye’re away.”

“Companion?” Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Partner in crime might be a more accurate description. Nell Blake is nearly as a much of a free spirit as Macie.”

“They can share their misadventures,” Finn said, employing an optimist’s tone. “If ye have concerns, have yer father call her home.”

“I’ve already sent a telegram.” Jon slowly shook his head. “He insists she stay.”

“No doubt to continue the husband hunt.”

Jon nodded. “He intends to use Bennington Manor to motivate her to make a suitable match. He’ll fund the restoration of the house. But in return, he expects to see a wedding ring on her finger by the end of the year. If she returns home now—or if she creates a scandal his money cannot overcome—he’s not inclined to ‘toss good coin after bad.’”

Bloody hell. The thought of Macie’s father using the house she cherished as leverage set Finn’s back teeth on edge. “Ye’re serious?”

“He only wants what’s best for Macie.”

“And ye believe that?”

“What I believe does not signify. Not at the moment, at least.” Jon downed the whisky in his glass to the last drop. “As I will not be here to keep a watchful eye on her, I’m quite sure I can count on my most trusted ally—that would be you, Phineas Caldwell.”

Bollocks. Any time anyone used his given name, trouble followed. Finn had learned that lesson as a boy. “What in blazes are ye saying?”

For a moment, Jon regarded him with an unreadable expression. A cryptic smile crept over his features. “Allow me to make a prediction—before this week is done, you will feel a touch of the joy that comes part and parcel with watching over Macie.”

Finn cocked his head. Watching over Macie . Surely he’d misheard.

“Come again?”

“My friend, you will experience the challenge of keeping my dear sister’s name off the lips of every gossipmonger in town.”

Finn tapped a fingertip against Jon’s glass. “Precisely how much of this stuff did ye imbibe before we walked through the door?”

“Not so much as a drop.”

“Absinthe?”

Jon shook his head. “Never touch the stuff.”

“An opium den?”

“Never.”

Finn studied his friend. “Perhaps ye wandered too close and inhaled the smoke?”

“Not a chance.” For the second time that night, Jon smiled. “You came to London to secure a contract for your family’s distillery,” Jon finally said. “Did you not?”

“That was part of it,” Finn said. “What are ye getting at?”

“As you know, we are planning to offer a gentleman’s smoking room within our department stores,” Jon went on.

Finn nodded his agreement with the idea. “Offering men a respite while their wives peruse the merchandise is a stroke of brilliance.”

“True.” Jon offered a bland nod. “And if the blokes have a tumbler of whisky in their bellies, they will likely open their wallets even wider. My father is a shrewd one, I’ll give him that. But—”

Finn studied his friend’s face. “Ye have doubts?”

“No,” Jon answered quickly. “But the business of managing the venture has grown more complicated. Keeping all the parts of the plan moving in the right direction is a blasted pain in my arse. And now, there’s another complication.”

“Such is the plight of the astute man of business,” Finn said with a chuckle, only to be met with an intent frown.

“I’ve been called away to Scotland. A complication has arisen at the Inverness property. Minor catastrophe, my assistant stated in his wire, whatever the bloody hell that means. I expect to be gone for a fortnight. And that, my old friend, is where you come in. If you agree to this arrangement, your family will supply the liquor served in our smoking rooms for years to come.”

“Arrangement?” The tension in Finn’s gut warned he would not like whatever the hell Jon had in mind. “ Blackmail might be more to the point.”

“Call it what you will. It’s actually a rather simple task.” The tightness in Jon’s tone contradicted his words. He cleared his throat. “I need you to watch over Macie.”

Finn felt his own brows hike. Ye’d have more luck taming the ocean. His own words had come back to haunt him. “Ye do realize I am a man —a man whose reputation precedes him? The bloody gossips’ suspicions will flame out of control.”

“I—of all people—am aware of your reputation. But desperate times call for desperate measures. With any luck, Miss Blake’s presence will hold the biddies at bay.”

“Surely there is someone else... someone better suited to playing chaperone to a headstrong lass.” A woman. Or a man so ancient, he would long for a comfortable chair far more than for a beauty like Macie.

“She does not require a chaperone. My sister needs a bodyguard.”

“A bodyguard? She will never agree to such a thing.”

“Macie’s agreement—or lack of it—is not pertinent to my decision.” Jon leaned back against his chair. “She dashes about this city with little more than her parasol for defense. Macie is not foolish. Not in the least. She understands that being the daughter of a wealthy man makes her a target. But that knowledge has not held her back from gallivanting about London with her blasted camera and Miss Blake in tow. I don’t need someone merely to guard her good name. I need someone who can defend her.”

Blast it to hell, but Jon was making sense. Despite Macie’s determined will and independent nature, she was not as worldly as she believed. A woman of her means had been shielded from the darkness permeating the city. If she found herself in the sights of a man with ill intentions—whether a street tough or an entitled noble—she would be vulnerable. Defenseless .

The thought of Macie falling victim to some gutter-dweller plowed into Finn’s gut like a fist. By hellfire, he was entering a trap. And he knew it.

But there wasn’t a blasted thing he could tell himself that might convince him to walk away.

“Tell me this, Jon. Why me?”

“You already know the answer, Finn. You know how to use your fists when you need to. You’ve never shied away from a fight.” Jon met his gaze. “I need to know Macie is protected. Above all, I need someone I can trust.”

Trust. How bloody unexpected.

“It goes without saying that discretion will be required,” Jon went on. “I am counting on you to keep her safe. And out of trouble.”

Finn dragged a hand through his hair. Bloody hell, what was he getting himself into? “Protecting her is one thing. Keeping her out of trouble is quite another.”

“How well I know,” Jon agreed. “It is imperative that she does not create another scene that sets tongues wagging.”

Jon’s tone was so staid, it was hard to reconcile this man with the rowdy rogue who’d once ridden a horse into a tavern for the sake of an ill-considered wager. When had his friend cast aside his amusement over his sister’s harmless scandals? He threw him a speaking glance.

“No, we wouldn’t want her to do that, would we? By the way, did ye ever put Thunder out to stud?”

“There’s no need to remind me of my misspent youth. God only knows Father takes great pleasure in that pursuit.” Jon frowned. “You seem to admire Macie’s talent for wreaking havoc.”

“Some might consider it an art form.” Finn didn’t bother to hold back his smile. “Is it true she dumped a cup of cold punch over some unlucky baron’s head?”

“Something like that.” Jon looked as if he’d gritted his teeth at the memory. “As I recall, he was a viscount.”

“I’d wager the bastard deserved it.”

“He did.” Jon glanced at the gold timepiece he wore on a chain tethered to his waistcoat. “Surely you can understand my reasons for asking you to watch over her. Keep her safe. And out of trouble. If she can land a noble by the time I return, so much the better.”

Finn considered his words for a long moment. “I cannot imagine Macie wishes to call herself Lady Birdwit. Are ye telling me ye’re willing to sacrifice her freedom for a title she neither needs nor wants?”

“I don’t give a damn about hitching Macie to some high-browed fop. Our families could buy and sell most of these so- called lords any day of the week. But Father has gotten it into his head that Macie should pursue a title, that she deserves to be a lady.”

His friend’s words dug into his stomach like a fist. “Jon, she already is a lady.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jon drummed his fingers in an irritatingly precise rhythm. “I do care about Macie. She deserves a chance to shine. If she ruins her chances simply to sabotage our father’s whims, that will be a blasted shame.”

Finn kept his peace for a long moment, considering Jon’s words. “And if I agree to this arrangement?”

“The contracts will be yours. No further negotiation required.” Jon’s fingers stilled, thankfully silencing the nervous beat. “But there is one thing... one thing I must say before we make this agreement.” His eyes narrowed strategically. “You will bear in mind that she is my sister... at all times.”

“That goes without saying. Ye do realize that Macie regards me as fondly as she might look upon a burr in her shoe?”

“I am not a green lad. Frost can be melted. My mother and father are proof of that. But I am trusting you will not be the one to chisel away the ice Macie uses as a shield.”

“Ye’ve no worries on that matter.” Finn resisted the urge to down another gulp of whisky as Macie’s scandalous proposition echoed through his thoughts, contradicting his own words.

“I’m counting on you to watch over her. Even if it means protecting my sister from her own schemes.”

Bloody hell, was he up to that challenge? “What makes you think she’ll go along with this?”

“Macie will see the logic in this arrangement.” Jon sounded like he was trying to shore up his confidence. “You’ll see.”